


The Traveller from Poznan

by theliteraltrash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Banshee Lydia Martin, F/M, France (Country), Hunter Allison Argent, Ireland, Period Typical Attitudes, Piast Dynasty, Scotland, Stiles Stilinski's Name is Mieczysław, Travel, Werewolf Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), im ignoring language barriers, stiles is just... stiles, those are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theliteraltrash/pseuds/theliteraltrash
Summary: The year is 968 AD, and Mieczyslaw is tired of his life in Poznan. He has taken to travelling the world, searching for adventure. In his travels, he makes friends who brighten his existence more than becoming a knight ever could.





	The Traveller from Poznan

Mieczyslaw Stilinski had traveled a lot in his life. Originating from Poznan, his father was a knight for  Mieszko I, and Mieczyslaw could not follow in his father’s footsteps. He didn’t wish to serve for a Christian country, for he did not believe in their god. One would be a liar if they said that Mieczyslaw believed in any god at all. 

In his travels, Mieczyslaw met a man in Scotland bearing the name McCall. He was a bastard, his father a member of a family in the Dalriadan clans and his mother a servant healer woman. His name was Scott, and he had taken to calling Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’. “Far easier to say and one would assume if we were literate it would be easier to spell,” Stiles had joked.

Stiles had come to Scotland in search of werewolves. He had heard a commoner on a drunken rant in France explaining that he fled the wolves of Scotland. This made his new friend, a huntress named Allison Argent, laugh. They left on horseback the next morning, then sailed across the sea to England. Continuing their trip on horseback, they arrived in Scotland and searched for the werewolves. Allison was humoring Stiles’ curiosity because he treated her as an equal. He even acknowledged that she was far more skilled than him at anything other than piecing together the information given to them.

They had no such luck finding a werewolf until they met Scott. He was nothing like the commoner described. He was kind and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Sure, he attacked Stiles on the night of the full moon, but Allison had gotten him to come down from the high that the moon had brought. For she was just as sweet of a drug as the call of the moon. 

The trio were staying in Scott’s cottage, which was more of a shack, in the woods. He enjoyed being with nature, but he secluded himself so as not to harm the villagers with his curse. Stiles had wished the cottage were larger, so that he may not have to hear his companions passionate sins in the night. It allowed for plenty of teasing, as Allison had fled the concept of an arranged marriage just to fall for a werewolf.

It was two months before Scott and Allison were married. She wished to send word to her parents of the news, but no one they knew were literate or able to send a letter across the sea just to be read by a man who couldn’t read. Instead, they sailed to Ireland. Scott’s family on his father’s side had resided there before coming to Scotland, and he wanted a start where him being both a bastard and a werewolf was unknown. He took on the name Argent, and the three of them were on their way.

“Have you heard of the fae that are said to roam these parts?” Stiles asked, raising his voice so he would be heard above the hooves of the horses they were riding on their way to the village.

Scott looked at him with a furrowed brow. “There are many fae. What kind do you speak of?”

A smile spread across Stiles’ face. “The bean sídhe,” he began. “She is the woman of the fairies, her scream is an omen of death in her family. Perpetual mourning and wailing is her specialty.”

“Tis rather macabre for such a bright expression, Mieczyslaw,” Allison narrowed her eyes. “You have the same look in your eyes as you did when we caught word of the wolves of Scotland.”

Stiles pointed a finger at a weeping woman sat on the edge of a river. “I believe we have found her.”

There was no way for Stiles to have been sure that she was the woman of the fairies that they spoke of, yet he guided their horses toward her. They halted when they got close, and he dismounted. She had yet to look up at them as she sobbed, her long and wet red hair falling in front of her face. Her clothes were torn and dirty, yet she was strikingly beautiful. She was nothing like the hags described in the stories. 

As Stiles approached her on foot, he noticed a captivating feeling. “Ma’am?” He dared to speak.

She turned her head to him, wiping the tears from her face. “Yes?” 

“Are you alright?” He sat beside her on the riverbank. Allison and Scott were standing not too far away.

The woman nodded, a small smile turning the corners of her lips upwards. “Yes, thank you.”

Stiles smiled encouragingly at her. “May I ask your name?”

“Martin, Lydia Martin,” she answered. “Who might you be?”

“I’m Stiles, these are my friends Scott and Allison,” he gestured toward them. “Why were you crying?”

Lydia took a deep breath and looked toward the horizon, an emptiness filled her eyes. Stiles knew that look, it was the look his father had when he explained that his mother had passed away. It was the look that Stiles had in his own eyes before he met Allison and Scott. “My sister has passed, and my father is going to pass as well.”

It was Allison who spoke next. “How do you know?”

“I screamed, and they told me,” Lydia turned toward her, the life coming back to her face.

Scott frowned and approached. “Who told you?”

“The voices.”

**Author's Note:**

> i always wanted to write something like this,,, so i did. if i ever want to, i'll write more and make this a series.


End file.
